


Wayward World

by TimeladyA



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dianne Winchester, F/M, Gen, SPN Genderbend, Samantha Winchester - Freeform, non-canon, non-canon A/U
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-06-23 22:06:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15616038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeladyA/pseuds/TimeladyA
Summary: Rowena is looking for a rare book of an ancient kind of magic hidden in the Men of Letters Bunker. She casts a spell that throws everyone in a universe where they are the opposite gender but nothing else is different and poses as a helpful ally in order to gain access to the impenetrable bunker.





	1. Something Weird This Way Comes

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely non-canon, I just pulled most of it together, it takes place in a random universe where no one died.

The throbbing of her head was what really woke her. It was as if a high school brass band was practising inside her skull. Okay. That was the last time she agreed to Tequila shots. This body was definitely not made for Tequila shots.  
  
She winced at the light streaming in from the motel window. Seriously, the sun needed to install a dimmer and dial that sucker back a few notches. With a moan she turned over and faced away from the glare. It wasn’t very long before something or should she say someone nudged her foot. She groaned and hid under her pillow, hoping Sammy would get the hint.  
  
“Up and at ‘em, Dee!” Sam called from the foot of the bed, “Stevie called. She’s got something.” Dianne’s reply was a string of garbled up syllables muffled further by the pillow. “Dude, seriously, we gotta go. I told her we’d meet her around noon.”  
  
She didn’t respond to that. Yes. Play dead. Maybe Sam would go away. The room was silent for a few beats, almost as if Sam had decided to play along.  
Her bedcovers were suddenly yanked from her and her pillow was lifted from her head, “Unless you want to skip the shower, I’d suggest you hop to it.”  
“Why are you yelling?” she grunted.  
  
Sam laughed, “Charlie drink you under the table again?”  
  
“You’re still yelling.” She pushed herself into a seated position and rubbed sleep from her eyes, “and you don’t even have my coffee.”  
  
“You can have coffee on the way. The sooner we wrap this up, the better.” Sam walked to her bed and carried on sipping from the cup in her hand.  
  
Dianne forced herself to get up. Her body was used to being pushed that extra mile even when it complained. She shuffled to the bathroom and put herself in auto-pilot, turning on the shower, adjusting the water temperature, stripping out of her sleeping trunk and tank top, tying her hair into a top knot and stepping into the shower. The odd thing was as she scrubbed her body clean, she didn’t feel the usual nausea that came from a night of way too much alcohol or the aches from a hunt—what the heck were they even hunting anyway?  
  
Her head got clearer as she showered but the headache refused to go away. She turned off the water, reached for her towel and dried herself as she walked out of the shower. She stood in front of the mirror and swiped the condensation away with her hand. She stifled a flinch as she took in her appearance. There were no tell-tale signs of a crazy night of drinking and/or hunting. Her face was the same old oval with fair skin and freckles dusting her straight nose and cheeks. Her eyes were their usual bright green colour and there was no fatigue in them and her full was slightly parted. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at herself. Something wasn't right. She neither looked nor felt hungover but the headache refused to go away and there was something about her face that just bugged her. She couldn’t lay a finger on it but she was sure that if someone were to point it out, she would kick herself thinking how could she not see it.  
  
She stepped back into the bedroom, still towelling her hair. Sometime during the shower, she had caved and decided to wash her dark blonde locks.  
  
“Did you say I went out with Charlie last night?” she sat down and faced her sister. Even looking at her sister, something just bothered her. Sam was tall—a full head taller than her even though Dianne was the older sister—and had long dark brown hair that tangled into loose curls. Her skin was the right amount of tan and her eyes were just the right amount of green. She wore dark blue skinny jeans and a brown t-shirt. There was honestly nothing wrong with her appearance. And yet, something just nudged Dianne, making her dissect every feature on her sister.  
  
No, you’re just hungover. Stop staring. It’s creepy.  
  
Sam seemed confused by the question at first, “Yeah, you went out with Charlie, Jonah and Grace. You wanted to, quote ‘show your livers who’s boss’. I guess you didn’t consult your brains about the matter.”  
  
“So why don’t I remember any of this?” she said and started applying lotion. It made no sense, she’d been blind drunk before but never in her history of alcohol intake had she ever blacked out an entire evening. She usual retained snippets of the evening but to lose an entire chunk of time? This was a first. Whatever had been in that Tequila…  
“Guess you were pretty smashed.” Sam had traded her coffee for her laptop. The symbols the creature left behind had no known origin, Stevie had also been stymied at first. “You came back at around two in the morning singing—or rather butchering ‘Ramblin Man’” Sam shook her head.  
  
“I might be getting too old for this stuff.” She dressed in her light blue denim shorts, a black tank top and a black-and-red flannel shirt before slipping her feet into brown combat boots. Her hair was still damp and would have to dry on the way. “I’m ready. Let’s go.” She said as she stuffed her sleeping clothes into a duffel bag and reached for the car keys in one move. “Are you sure I went out last night?” she asked as Sam locked the door.  
  
Sam whipped her head to her sister, “What do you mean?”  
  
Dianne scratched the back of her head, “I’m just not getting that hangover vibe.”  
  
Sam just gave her a disbelieving look accompanied by a snort, “And you would be the best judge for these things?” Dianne shrugged, “Alright, make your case.”  
  
She was silent for a long second, “I just know, okay? I’m the older and wiser one and I just know.” she stomped her way to the car while Sam went to return the key.  
  
“Does your head hurt?” She asked Sam when she came back.  
  
Sam paused in the middle of getting in the car, “Uh, no?”  
  
Dianne started the car, the familiar sound of her baby coming to life was a comfort, “I have the mother of all headaches.”  
  
“That’s what happens when you mix Tequila, whisky and Jäger.” Sam replied and closed the door.  
  
“But Sammy, I’ve been drunk before, like New Year’s Eve drunk and I’ve been hungover before. It just doesn’t feel like that.”  
  
Sam shrugged, “Maybe you’re getting too old.”  
  
“Don’t say that.” She sighed and pulled out of the parking lot. Stevie’s was about three hours away and she was in no mood to prod further about this whole thing. It really bothered her that she wasn't sure where she’d been or what she’d done. Hell, she wasn't even sure what the hell they were hunting. She turned on the radio and tried to focus on the road. This headache was a real bitch.  
  
Her foot ghosted over the brake pedal when she thought she saw something on the road. She slowed down just a smidge as she tried to make out what it is she was seeing. On the other side of the road was what appeared to be a woman with long red hair in a long blue dress holding a yellow stone in her hands.  
She needed coffee, quickly. Her mind had to stop playing these tricks on her.  
  
“You’re sure your head doesn’t hurt?” Dianne asked again.  
  
“Is it me or is this an odd conversation?” Sam glanced at her. “I feel fine.”  
  
"Where are we going again?" Dianne asked as she resumed moved the car into the fast lane of the freeway.  
  
"Blue Ash, Ohio," Sam supplied. “Stevie spoke of a strange string of deaths.”  
  
The older sister glanced at the younger one, “Strange like that guy who shot himself in the head three times or strange like the old lady with the weird kinky bondage?” she shivered at the latter. That had really not been in their wheelhouse.  
  
“Stevie wasn’t liberal with the details but I’m guessing it was weird enough for Stevie to need backup.”  
  
Either that or she was getting senile, Dianne thought to herself, “What day is it?” she asked again.  
  
“Tuesday.” Sam replied and shook her head, “Are you still drunk? Maybe I should drive.”  
  
Dianne refrained from shaking her head, it already felt as if it weighed a metric ton and jostling would surely make her pass out, “Nah, I’m okay. I just…” she sighed, “Are you I went out last night?”  
  
“Yeah, Charlie, Jonah and Grace picked you up and you went on a… and I’m quoting here ‘an epic pub crawl for the ages’.  
  
“I haven’t seen those guys since that time Grace threw up on the bartender.” She looked out the window, “I am never drinking again. Maybe you _should_ drive.” She eased Baby onto the shoulder of the road and got out without waiting for her sister's reply.  
  
Halfway into the exchange of their positions, Sam took her sister by the shoulders and scanned her face, "Maybe you're coming down with something," she felt at Dianne's temple, “You don’t feel warm and you really don’t look sick.”  
  
Dianne pushed Sam’s hand away, “Whatever, let’s just table my non-hangover hangover for another, Stevie’s waiting for us and you know how she is about being kept waiting.”  
  
“Promise you’ll tell me if you get worse?” the brunette asked reluctantly.  
  
Dianne nodded.  
  
Sam knew she wouldn’t keep that promise.


	2. Something Baked This Way Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this is my first time writing and I have tasked myself with writing genderswapped characters. I am a sucker for pain. Please let me know what you think, I welcome criticism :)

Stevie was seated in a corner booth with a laptop and probably her hundredth coffee—Irish of course. Her mousy brown hair was gathered into a loose ponytail and tucked under a worn trucker cap. She wore her usual, long-sleeved red sweater, dark blue sleeveless body warmer, faded jeans and leather boots.  
  
“You look like stomped over crap,” Stevie said by way of greeting to Dianne.  
  
Dianne hugged the older woman, “Takes one to know one, old lady.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” she hugged Sam.  
  
“So have you figured out what we’re dealing with?” Sam asked when they sat down in the booth.  
  
Stevie’s fingers flew over the laptop and opened up a news report, “Three people have been murdered in cold blood with each one a branded with a symbol on their chests,” she turned the laptop to the younger hunters and showed them the excerpt from the online news blog.  
  
“Did you find out what it is?” Dianne asked and smiled at the diner waiter who came to take their order. She asked for a slice of pie as usual and Sam rolled her eyes.  
  
“Well the symbol itself is a first for me but it is reminiscent of witchcraft but I found no hexbags or any of the usual signs.” Stevie sipped her coffee.  
  
Sam enlarged the symbol and scanned it. It was a run-of-the-mill pentagram but had what looked like a very crude stick figure in the centre hanging off the whole thing, “What on earth is that?”  
  
“Pie!” Dianne’s face brightened when her pie was placed in front of her. It was a cherry pie and judging by the way the girl with the dark blonde hair was attacking it, it was good.  
  
“You should probably breathe every once in a while,” Sam scowled at her, “With how you've been feeling, you might just yack that whole thing up again.”  
  
“I would never yack pie, it would offend the delicious creation.” She said around another mouthful, “So what’s weird other than the branding of dead people?”  
  
“Well for starters, it only kills the oldest of the children. Male or female it doesn’t seem to care.” Stevie took the laptop back.  
  
Dianne finished off her pie, “Let’s get to snooping then.”  
  


~SPN~

“Oh would you quick that?” Sam yanked at her sister who was studying her reflection on the glossy black paint of the Impala.

“I look like freaking Jackie-O,” she grumbled and examined her butt the reflection from all angles. “Whatever we’re hunting had better be worth it. Or at least cool.” She walked past Sam to the small two storey house they had parked in front of.

Sam gave her a sour glare. This was the site of the latest death, a ten year old girl who had also been tagged with the same symbol.

She had died the previous night.

“Sorry,” Dianne murmured.

A woman in her thirties opened the door and shakily wiped her hands on the starched white apron around her waist. Her brown hair has pulled back into a tight bun, her grey eyes were glassy and puffy and the tip of her nose was red from way too many altercations with a tissue.

“Good day, ma’am,” Sam gave her a polite nod. “I am Special Agent Page and this is my partner Special Agent Plant.” The presented their credentials to her, “We’d like to speak to you regarding your—”

After a brief one-over of the ‘official documents’ she nodded before Sam could finish her sentence, “I understand, please come in.” She motioned inside. Her voice trembled a bit and so did her hands.

The whole house smelled of baked goods, if you closed your eyes you would think you in a bakery. The kitchen she led them to radiated heat from the oven and smelled like butter and cookies. Mrs Brenda Farley moved behind the island, picked up a bowl with dough and started stirring.

“What would you like to know?” she sniffled.

Sam glanced at her sister, Dianne took the cue, “Mrs Farley, according to the report from the sheriff’s department, your daughter—”

“—Emma,” she interjected.

“Yes, my apologies, ma’am,” Dianne dropped her gaze. “According to your report, uh, you were in the room when Emma died.”

She nodded and continued stirring, “We were playing Monopoly Junior, it was game night.” She whispered, “Maggie and Little Jerry love board game night.”

“Did you see or hear anything prior to the…incident?” Sam asked and looked directly at her, “Even an innocuous detail could shed some light on this case.”

She stopped stirring, looked around, stared at the kitchen door then resumed the stirring, “Um, no. I don’t think so?” she sniffled, “Were playing the one second and she was dead the next. I don’t… I can’t… I don’t know what happened in between,” she slammed the bowl on the island and stared into it, “We were still playing… she was dead and we were still playing.”

“Did you let anyone in the house? Or meet any strange persons?” Dianne asked.

“No?” the oven timer chimed and she moved as if she was remotely controlled. She pulled out a tray of what turned out to be peanut butter cookies. She placed them on the counter near the sink near more mountains of cookies.

“Mommy?” a small voice came from the doorway, “I can’t find my sock.” A little girl stood there, a pale blue blanket clutched in one hand and a foot missing a sock. Her hair was matted, as if she had just rolled out of bed.

“Oh, Maggie,” Mrs Farley lets out a shaky sigh, “Um, we’ll find your sock I just… um” she looked around, her face turned bright red.

Dianne turned to face the little girl and gave her a soft smile, “Hello.”

The girl rubbed her sleepy eyes, “Hello. I lost my sock. Emma helps me find it sometime but she not in her bed.” Mrs Farley made a sound akin to a tortured animal.

Dianne spotted the missing sock peeking out of the floor-end of the blanket, “Wanna see something really cool?” she crouched to meet the child’s eyes. Maggie nodded, still rubbing her eyes. Deft hands lifted the small pink sock and showed it to her.

Maggie’s face lit up, “Blankety ated it!” she took the sock and showed it her mother, “Mommy, blankety ated my sock!”

Mrs Farley exhaled softly and tried for a smile, “Oh baby, that’s good. Go get your brother, I’ll make you some lunch.”

“Bwekfast, mommy.” The girl corrected and shuffled out of the room. Dianne smiled at her retreat.

“Are you alright, Mrs Farley? Maybe you should sit down.” Sam suggested.

Mrs Farley returned to her stirring, “No, I’m fine. Emma loved peanut butter cookies. I have to make sure there’s plenty for her when…” she stopped stirring and started sobbing.

Dianne eyed her sister in a look that said, ‘kids I can manage but this is your jurisdiction’. Sam put away her notepad and went to the hysterical woman. There was nothing else they would get out of her so she just offered a hug—not standard procedure for federal agents but screw fake protocol. This wound was clearly too fresh.

From the corner of her eyes, the girl with the dark hair saw behind the bin something that really shouldn’t have been there. From where she stood, it appeared to be a blade of dried grass or an ear of wheat. She couldn’t tell what it was from where she stood but it really shouldn’t have been there.

Mrs Farley calmed down, or rather sprang into action as if spurred by something, “The batter will spoil if I keep stirring it.” She reached for another baking tray and resumed her work, “Is there anything else you need, agents?”

Sam took advantage of her distraction and picked up the grass. Her eyes widened when the piece of grass turned out to be part of an object that was circular in shape. She concealed it in her jacket pocket.

“Uh no ma’am,” Dianne replied, “We’ll be in touch but in case you recall anything else, here’s my card.” She paced a business card on the island.

They bid their goodbyes and Mrs Farley stopped them, “Wait! Here.” She took out a brown paper bag from one of the cupboards and stuffed it full of baked goodies, “I made too many.” She motioned for the collection of baked items that could have fed the biblical multitude for a month and still have leftovers.

“Ma’am, we couldn’t possibly—” Sam started when the bag of biscuits was pressed against her stomach.

Dianne steeped forward and accepted it, “We could, thank you Mrs Farley.” She smiled at her.

That seemed to put a smile on the bereaved mother’s face.

~SPN~

“No sulphur or EMF and no hexbags.” Sam listed as they drove off, “But I did find this behind her trashcan.” She took out the unidentified object.

“What the hell?” Dianne turned her attention from the road to the thing in Sam’s hand. “That looks like voodoo.”

The circular shape was part of a pentacle that was made of a type of grass or grain; the pointy ends of the star were tipped with ears of wheat, rye or barley. And just like the strange symbol branded on the victims’ bodies, there was a small woven grass doll pinned to the pentacle, its head covered by a straw hat and its body dressed in a blue top and red pants.

Dianne chuckled and pulled into the side of the road in front of the house of another victim, “Kinda looks like the doll you begged mom for during that hung in Ogden.”

“I can’t believe you’d go there.” Sam grumbled and got out of the car. "But I'm glad you're felling better."

Dianne scowled and exited the vehicle too, "Not really, but there really is no point to bitching about things you can change. I'll just take an Advil when we get to the motel." she smiled and held up an finger, "And enjoy Mrs Houmemom's heavenly-smelling cookies."

Sam shook her head, "You took food from a grieving mother."

"You make it sound as if I held her at gunpoint and took it, she's a mom, she offered." Their own mother had never baked anything in their lives. She had been too consumed with finding their father's killer.

Sam was quiet for a while after that, "She did seem to calm down when you accepted it. And when you found her daughter's mysteriously vanishing sock." she touched Dianne's shoulder, "You're really good at making people feel at ease."

"Alright, you're giving me the jeebies, let's get this over with." Dianne shook her sister's hand off and started walking.


	3. Something Fishy This Way Comes

“Every house we checked out had one of the things. What the heck are they?” Dianne turned one of the weird grass pentacles over her hands studying it. At some point her eyes drifted from the weird tiny scarecrow to her hands.

Small. These hands were small and unblemished. For a seasoned hunter, she really had no battle scars to show. No callouses or fingers that healed wrong after being broken by monsters. These were the hands of a preppy high school kid not an experienced hunter and they definitely were not…

“Dee!”

He looked up and found Stevie and Sam watching him, “What?”

“Are we boring you with this?” Stevie asked and motioned for the table that was now laid out with bits of research the older woman had managed to put together.

“No,” she shook her head, bringing strands of dark blonde to her face, “Has my hair always been this long?” she wondered out loud.

“Are you still drunk?” Sam asked with a disapproving scowl.

“No,” she shook her head again and got up in search of a glass, “I just have a headache is all.”

“Still? You took Advil hours ago!” Sam waved a hand out.

She filled her glass with tap water and downed it all in one gulp before slamming it on the counter, “Well, let me write an open letter to the pharmaceutical company.” She drawled then walked back to her seat, “Alright where are we?”

Sam picked up one of the dolls and moved her gaze from it to the computer screen, “You know, if you think of this mark as if it was drawn by a child or maybe an abstract artist, they depict the same thing.” She turned the computer screen to Dianne and Stevie, “Right?”

Stevie nodded slowly, “If we can figure out what this thing is and who made it, maybe we figure out what we’re dealing with.”

“Probably a witch.” Dianne lifted her legs and crossed them on the table. Sam and Stevie stared at her, “Oh, tell me you haven’t thought of that one, witches are always responsible for the weird ones.” She shook her head and muttered, “Freakin’ witches.”

Sam took the laptop back and started tapping at keys, “Before we pull a Molotov cocktail on Sabrina, let’s be sure it really is a witch.”

From the corner of her eye, Dianne caught a slight movement through the window. It wasn’t much and she wasn’t even sure what she’d seen. Just a bit of red and a flash of violet. She put her feet down and turned her whole torso toward the window but saw nothing. Soon she was standing by the window, staring out of it with his sister and the closest thing they had to a mother calling out her name again.

She turned and yawned, “Okay, maybe I should just hit the hay, something is wrong with my head.” She shuffled to the bed and fell face-first. Within seconds, she was snoring.  
“She okay?” Stevie asked.

Sam shook her head, “I don’t know. It’s hard to know with Dianne. She always makes molehills out of mountains. Hopefully whatever she has will clear up by morning.”  
Dianne’s phone rang, Sam rifled through her jacket and retrieved it, “Hello.”

“Agent Plant?” a man’s voice came from the other side, “It’s Doctor McKenzie, we spoke this afternoon.”

Sam did not bother telling the doctor that it was not her sister on the line, “Yes Doctor, I remember.”

“The tox screen came from the latest victim’s family,” his voice trailed and dropped an octave.

“Did you find something untoward?” Sam saw Stevie giving her a strange look, Dianne would never use word like ‘untoward’.

“Um, yes. There were traces of GHB and benzodiazepines in their systems.”

“Both in each person? That’s a bit of overkill.”

The doc chuckled nervously, “That’s true, each drug would be effective in subduing a person on its own but the effects compounded and left each of them in this fugue state where they can’t trust their own memories.”

“So they may have seen the guy that did this,” Sam concluded.

Uncomfortable with jumping to conclusions, the doctor hesitated for a few seconds, “I suppose. I’d have to check the records of the other families to be sure but I thought it might help with your investigation.”

“Thanks, doc.” She hung up and placed the phone on the table.

“What’d the doc want?” Stevie watched the younger girl resume her seat.

Sam relayed the doctor’s revelation to Stevie while casting the occasional worried glance toward her slumbering sister, “Not that I’m on this monster’s side but why drug the rest of the family and kill the one child? Why not kill them all? Wouldn’t that be more logical?”

Stevie nodded slowly, “I’m with you there, kid. Logic ain’t a friend to this one.” She picked up the tiny pentacle doll, “Unless something prevents him from killing the rest. Maybe a clause.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Think about it, if Dianne is right and this is a witch we’re dealing with, they may not have much choice. Whatever they are up to might have strict rules of engagement. Kinda like the rabbit’s foot needs a full moon, in October, Friday the 13th.”

“So this thing only kills one person per household and drugs the rest,” Sam theorised. “Could it be a sacrificial thing?”

“I’ll hit the lore and see what I can dig up, maybe talk to other hunter in case they’ve run into something like this before.” Stevie yawned and stretched out the kinks in her neck.  
Sam chuckled incredulously, “Yeah, because a monster who kills one victim and spares the rest while leaving a handmade creepy scarecrow doll is so common.”

Stevie’s eyes slid up to meet the tall girl, “Careful, you’re not as adorable as your sister when it comes to smart assed quips.”

She sighed, “Sorry, I’m tired, this had just been a weird day and my sister is acting strangely.”

“Strangely enough to make a call?”

Sam knew exactly what Stevie was suggesting, “Maybe. If she's not back to normal by morning, I’ll consider it.”

~SPN~

Dianne’s consciousness drifted to the surface as muffled voices carried over to her ears. Her throbbing head made compounded their volume and they reached her with the amplitude of a brass band falling on one swoop and clanging their instruments on a hard floor. She grunted and pulled her pillow over her head.

A hand touched her arm and shook her gently. She sighed and slowly lifted her pillow away. The light assaulted her but she forged on and forced her eyes to open.  
Blue eyes.

Blurry but blue.

She shut her eyes again, chalking it down to a headache-induced hallucination. The eyes were still there when she opened her own again. Narrowed and confused. She knew no one with eyes that blue.

Carefully, she reached one of her hands to the gun on the nightstand and swiftly sat up, pointing the it at the stranger in front of her, “Who the hell are you?!” her head spun, her vision doubled, threatened to pull her back into unconsciousness but she remained upright, with the gun aimed at the girl in front of her.

The stranger was tall but not quite as tall as Dianne. Her inky black hair reached her shoulders in a loose bob. She wore a black suit with a pencil skirt that reached just above her knees, a white dress shirt and a blue tie. Over the suit was a tan trench coat. She didn’t seem frazzled by the weapon pointed at her. Her face was devoid of every emotion, just a dire outlook to everything around her.

“Dianne! What are you doing? Put that down.” Sam leapt to the girl’s defence.

Sam’s voice made Dianne cringe and lower the gun in her hand, “Why are you always yelling at me? And who the hell is this?”

The younger sister scowled and looked from Dianne to Stevie who shrugged and returned the scowl, “Cas, Dee. This is Castiel, angle of the Lord, your best friend.” The statement trailed off like a question.

She dropped the gun and rubbed the side of her head, moaning at the pain, “I… I have a best friend?”

Cas’ narrow-eyed gaze slid from Dianne to Sam, “I still don’t understand this concept of friendship.”

“I thought you were my best friend.” Dianne said to her sister.

That kind of tugged at the younger sister’s heartstrings, “Really? Dianne!”

She gagged a bit and put her gun away, “Okay keep it in your pants, Cinderella.” She turned back to Castiel, “So we have angels now?”

Sam mirrored Castiel’s confused expression, “Dee, did you get drunk again last night?”

Dianne would have shaken her head but she was worried it would make her pass out.

“No, Samantha Winchester, I really am not drunk.”

“Dianne—” Sam started.

“Dianne has no alcohol in her system.” Cas shook her head.

Sam turned back to her sister, concern drawn on her face, “Then what the hell is wrong with your biscuit?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know but something just feels weird. My head won’t stop hurting.” She sighed and slowly rose to her feet, “Or maybe I am still drunk.” Silence stretched among the four of them and Dianne was the one to break it, “Alright, let’s table this for a later date, we still have a… whatever it’s called, to hunt.” Everyone in the room gave Dianne a questioning look, “What? It’s an old rule: if you can’t take care of problem A, take care of B and come back to A another time.”

Sam stepped away from Castiel, “Cas?”

Castiel closed the distance between her and Dianne and placed two fingers on her temple. The warm that radiated from the angel to her body was pleasant at first but soon morphed into samurai swords and spears in her brain. She screamed and crumpled to the ground, the pain sending her into an abyss worse than when she had been dragged to hell by hellhounds.

Sam ran to her sister’s side and tried to keep her from hurting herself, “What’s going on Cas? What did you do?”

The angel turned her hands out, “I don’t know, this has never happened before.” She squatted on the other side of the girl who was still thrashing about in pain.

Sam stopped her when she reached for Dianne again, “No, maybe you should not do that again. She may not be sick after all.”

Castiel sighed and placed her hand on the top of Dianne’s head. The shrieking seized immediately and the girl with the dark blonde hair stilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super swamped with work but I am also really into writing this. I promise to try and update at least one a week.  
> The chapters maybe a little short but I don't want to just throw words together.


	4. Something Worried This Way Comes

She was lost in a maelstrom of red and violet. The abyss threw her from nowhere to nowhere, like a boat in a hurricane. The only plus side was that her headache was gone. If only she could figure out how to get out of this thing. There was nowhere for her to find purchase, just the storm of energy, colour and nothingness.  
  
Then she heard something. She wasn’t sure. A voice maybe. It came from nowhere and vanished just as suddenly. The voice came again. It was definitely a woman’s voice. She couldn’t make out what she was saying or where she was. The tumult interfered. The yellow invaded the red and violet, making the storm more violent. When it reached her, she was flung like a ragdoll and slammed into a wall of obsidian with enough force to fracture her spine and possibly kill her.  
  
Her eyes snapped open and she gasped awake.  
  
“Dee, hey.” Sam’s hands cradled her face, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”  
  
Great. The headache was back. Dianne lifted her hand to her head and whimpered, “Ow. Jaeger headache.” She forced herself to sit up and found Stevie and Castiel on the other side of her bed, both sporting a worried look. “Great, Florence Nightingale’s still here. You almost killed me! Ah.” More pain lanced through her.  
  
“I was trying to heal you.” Castiel explained and scanned Dianne’s green eyes, “But something’s blocking me, in your mind.”  
  
She shuffled away from the angel and almost collided into her sister, “Just stay away from me, okay?”  
  
“Dee, she was trying to help.” Sam chided.  
  
“Yeah, help lobotomise me.” She grumbled and got off the bed. Her unsteady feet made her wobble and land back on the bed, “Whoa, I am either very drunk or this floor is up to no good.” She giggled tiredly and tried again. This time she managed to make it to the bathroom.  
  
“So what do we have on… what are we hunting again?” she felt a bit better after slashing water on her face and brushing her teeth.  
  
Sam turned to face her, “Stevie and I think you might be right.”  
  
Dianne tilted her head, “Right about what?”  
  
“This might be a witch.” Stevie replied.  
  
She shrugged, “I said that? When?”  
  
Sam’s face grew serious, “Dianne, this isn’t funny.” She tossed a canister of pills at her.  
  
Dianne caught it and read the label, “Codeine? Are we too fancy for good old aspirin now?”  
  
“If you take any more aspirin you might develop and ulcer or bleed to death the next time you get a cut.” Sam said and sat down.  
  
“You’re like a tall, skinny weird supermodel Einstein, aren’t you?” Dianne’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head.  
  
Sam rolled her eyes, “Eat your breakfast before you take those.” She motioned for a paper bag with a label for a fast food joint.  
  
Dianne mumbled a thank you and walked forward. Her stomach shuddered and rolled at the smell of bacon mixed with eggs and more aromas, “Ugh, is it off?”  
  
“No, Stevie brought it in a couple of minutes ago.” Sam said around a mouthful. “Eat. Now.”  
  
Dianne stared into the near distance, blinking slowly, trying to bank the nausea that was slowly rising. She carefully breathe through her mouth, keeping the scent from invading her nose, “Nope.” She whimpered and made a beeline for the bathroom.  
  
“Seriously, what is wrong with her?” Stevie watched after her and tried to ignore the sounds of hurling.  
  
“I couldn’t see anything wrong with her.” Cas supplied. She had picked a spot by the sink to lean on and committed herself there in silence.  
  
“Would somebody just kill me now?” Dianne groaned when she exited the bathroom again. This time she threw herself back on the bed.  
  
“Dude, are you pregnant?” Sam blurted out.  
  
Dianne didn’t even bother to lift her head, “Your face is pregnant.” She grumbled against her bedcovers.  
  
“Are you?” Stevie asked.  
  
“No.” she answered the same time Castiel answered for her, “So where are we at?”  
  
“Maybe you should see a doctor.” Sam said with a concerned voice.  
  
Dianne didn’t answer for a while then suddenly rose from the bed, pushing her hair from her face. Ugh this was annoying, long hair wasn’t her thing, “Let’s kill this thing first.” She picked up the pill canister Sam had given her and popped two pills in her mouth before downing them with water. Sam and Stevie gave her a queried look when she shuffled to the table, “What? I’m not dying.” Silence met her and she sighed, “Okay, I promise I’ll go to the doctor if I get any worse.”  
  
Sam got up and put her gun in its holster, “Stevie and I are going to check out another crime scene. You are going to stay here and Castiel is going to make sure you don’t go anywhere.” She cast a glance at the angel who nodded in return.  
  
“Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to babysitter of the Lord.” Dianne mumbled, her face still buried in the bedding.  
  
“Is this a form of employment the humans have?” Castiel sent the question to Sam and Stevie.  
  
Sam smiled and clapped a hand over Castiel’s shoulder, “If she gets worse, you’ll call right?”  
  
Cas only nodded and watched the two women walk out of the room.  
  
The room was left in floating silence, Dianne lay unmoving on her bed and Castiel was still at her post by the sink with folded arms.  
  
“Are you going to hover like the whole time?” Dianne asked. “Your eyes are burning a hole through the back of my skull.” When the angel did not reply, she carefully turned over to face her, “Why don’t you sit down, you’re making me anxious.”  
  
Castiel rolled her eyes and shuffled to a chair, “I’m concerned.”  
  
“About me?” Dianne actually laughed—well, as much as a sick girl could laugh—and shook her head. “That’s funny. You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be okay. I always am.” “Even when you’re not?”  
  
Dianne tried for a smile, “Especially when I’m not.”  
  
“I’m sorry I hurt you. I really was trying to help.” Castiel’s voice dropped to a whisper. Without the silence in the room, Dianne wouldn’t have heard her.  
  
“Don’t sweat it.” She peeled her eyes open and watched the girl who sat uncomfortably in a chair as if waiting to be reprimanded. “If we are friends, why don’t I remember you?” Castiel sighed, “I don’t know. Something affected your mind, it’s also keeping me out.”  
  
Dianne watched the distress in the blue eyes, slowly she forced herself to sit up, “So what do angels do? You know other than fry people’s brains.” Castiel’s eyes widened for a second, “Sorry. Can you fly?”  
  
She seemed to relax after that, “Uh, yes, but it’s much more convenient to teleport.”  
  
“Like the Nightcrawler?” she reached for a glass of water and was disappointed to find it empty. The tap was so far and she doubted her legs could take her that far.  
  
“I don’t know what that is,” Castiel said and handed Dianne a glass filled with water.  
  
Dianne flinched and looked from the chair Castiel had been occupying to the sink and back to where she now stood, “Thanks.” She murmured. “You’re fast.”  
  
Castiel’s shoulder lifted for a second, “You’re welcome. I am a celestial being.” She walked back to her chair.  
  
“What else can you do? And why do you look like a high school principal?” she sipped her water rather than chug it down like she wanted to. The painkillers were doing jack.  
  
She touched the lapels of her trench coat, “This is a vessel.” She said simply, “We’ve had this conversation before. You will be outraged by the fact that I am possessing someone, I will calmly tell you that angels can only occupy a vessel with permission.”  
  
Dianne chuckled, “That makes it so much better. When did we have this conversation?”  
  
Castiel’s eyes met hers, “When I brought you back from Hell.”  
  
That put a chill in her chest, she gripped her glass with a force that threatened to shatter it. “I remember Hell.” Dianne whispered. “I remember it. Why can I remember it and not you or anything from the before yesterday?” green eyes shimmered.  
  
Surprise passed through Cas’ features, “Did you tell Sam?”  
  
She shook her head, “She’d just worry.”  
  
“That’s a bad thing?” Castiel asked, her head tilted.  
  
“No, but I’m her older sister. Sam doesn’t need to worry about me. I’ll white-knuckle my way out of this. I think I’ve muddled through worse.”  
  
Silence stretched through the room, enough to make it uncomfortable for anyone. Dianne returned to nursing her water, glad at the nausea that was slowly dissipating. She lifted her head when she heard movement and found Castiel walking towards her.  
  
“I could try something. If you’ll let me?” her blue eyes searched Dianne’s face for signs of distress.  
  
Dianne scowled, “Didn’t you almost give me an aneurysm?”  
  
Cas nodded once, “I still don’t understand why I can’t heal you. Angels can heal any ailments, physical or otherwise, whatever you have, I don’t know what it is.” She lifted her hands to Dianne’s temples. “I’m not going to try and heal you, I just want to take a look.”  
  
“I’m so going to regret this,” Dianne murmured while shaking her head. She sucked in a breath, “Alright. Just don’t kill me.”  
  
Castiel nodded again and shut her eyes, gently nudging the barriers in the human’s mind to open. “This will work better if you relax.”  
  
“Relax while an angel rummages through my thoughts, sure.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I’m not looking at any specifics, just for a sign of malfunction—”  
  
“Malfunction?!” Dianne leaned away, losing contact of the angel’s hands.  
  
“That wasn’t the proper word.” Cas admitted and resumed her work.  
  
Castiel searched through her friend’s mind, navigating between a million thoughts at once, looking for a sign of what was wrong. She quickly took her hand off when she hit a wall of adamant and narrowed her eyes.  
  
“Well? D’you find anything?”  
  
Castiel shook her head and looked at her lap, “Nothing. It’s all walled off. Are you alright?”  
  
Dianne nodded and turned to place her head on her pillow, “I think the pill are kicking in. I’m gonna get some shuteye.” With that she swiftly drifted off.  
  
Castiel remained seated at the foot of the bed, watching the human sleep. Remembering what she had learned from the Winchester sisters, she reached for the duvet cover and draped it over Dianne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly filler...   
> Sorry for that, allergy medication does not combine well with painkillers. I may or may not have been slightly loopy when I wrote this. Pardon my spelling errors, I will correct them as soon as I stop smiling at the wall.  
> keep reading. Lot of love from me to you


	5. Something Witchy This Way Comes

In all honesty, Sam was surprised to find that Cas hadn’t left. Not that the angel wasn’t trustworthy but she did fall on the side of not-a-guard-dog-who-does-as-asked. But there the angel sat, at the foot of Dianne’s bed, watching her sleep.  
  
“Hey, we’re back.” Sam announced.  
  
Castiel rose to her feet and faced Winchester the younger and Stevie, “Yes, you are.” She stated, neither surprised nor sarcastic.  
  
“How’s Dianne?” Stevie asked and draped her coat over a chair.  
  
She glanced at the curled up sleeping lump of human, “She’s been asleep for almost as long as you have been gone.”  
  
Sam stripped her own overcoat and walked to her sister. She peeled back the duvet and checked her temperature, “She’s not feverish. This is weird.”  
  
“I can’t see into her mind, someone or something is barricading it.” Castiel told them, a worried look crossed her features, making Sam narrow her eyes. The angel quickly recovered, “I’ll uh, see what I can find out.” With that she was gone.  
  
Dianne opened her eyes and swatted at her sister’s hand, “What’s going on?” her voice was thick and husky, “When’d you get back? Where did Cas go?”  
  
“Just came in. How are you feeling, kid?” Stevie sat down at the table.  
  
She grunted and pushed herself up to sit, “Like there’s a permanent bongo circle in my head,” she rubbed her eyes, “and every time I breathe, I feel like I’m gonna be sick.” She sucked in a breath and stopped short, blinked a few times and slowly exhaled, “No, I’m okay, not gonna hurl again. What’d you find?” she addressed Stevie.  
  
“I put some feelers out, Rosie found bits and pieces of an ancient lore. The little dolls, the pentagram, they’re all Irish and they definitely were made by a witch. She caught wind of someone who might be an expert in Gaelic magic.”  
  
Dianne pushed her hair from her face, “Let me guess, she’s not down the street.” A few strands made their way back to her temples, with a sigh she gathered it and tied it with an elastic tie around her wrist. So convenient.  
  
“No.” Sam replied, “He’s a few hours from here.”  
  
“Great. A dude witch, that makes it so much better,” She rose to her feet and stretched, “Let’s go.”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, wait.” Sam stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, “You’re not a hundred percent and this is just a lead. Stevie and I can take care of this.”  
  
She sighed and shrugged her sister’s hand off, “Meh, it comes and goes and besides, how do you know the witch with the intel will be willing to part with the information? Maybe he’s in on this and maybe he doesn’t take kindly to hunters.”  
  
Sam stared her down but saw the determination engraved in the green eyes and sighed, she knew when she was beat, “Fine, but promise you’ll take it easy.” Dianne mumbled an agreement, “I'm sorry, but a half-mumbled word is not much of a promise.”  
  
“Okay, I promise to take a nap if I stop feeling well,” Dianne rolled her eyes. “Okay mum?”  
  
Sam ignored the jibe and smacked her shoulder. “Get your jacket, it’s getting cold out.”  
  
“Jesus!” Dianne mumbled and fished the jacket out of her bag.  
  
“And maybe wear not shorts?” She shrugged.  
  
Dianne grumbled and acquiesced, “It’s not like I have pneumonia.” She picked up her gun and magazines before trotting out the door, grabbing Baby’s keys from Sam’s hand on the way.  
  
“When do you think she’ll realise that we didn’t say where the witch was?” Stevie asked.  
  
The Impala’s engine roared to life, “About the same time she realises that we didn’t actually saying it was a witch we were going to see.” Sam replied and followed Stevie out of the door.  
  


~SPN~ 

Eventually Sam and Stevie told Dianne where it was they were headed. In Dianne’s defence, her driving skills had not been affected by whatever was going on with her head.  
Their destination turned out to be a shop in Leavenworth.

A brief knock brought a man to answer the door. He was in his late forties, maybe early fifties with a head of white hair, pale blue eyes and a smile that – if the lines on his face were an indicator – was permanent. He wore a perfectly tailored burgundy pin-striped suit with a white shirt and a fuchsia ascot.

“Stephanie Singer, Samantha and Dianne Winchester,” he murmured and held out a hand.

Ever the sceptic, Dianne glanced at the thin, bony hand, “I’m sorry, but how did you—?”

“You know how walls have ears? Well, think of the universe as one giant wall and I am tuned in full time,” he kept the hand out until Stevie caved and accepted the gesture. “I am Rowan Cavanaugh. Come on in. We can talk in the den.” He spoke with a smooth voice that could definitely talk him in and out of anything. “Tea? I have Earl Grey.” He motioned for a tea set on an ancient-looking table.

“Uh, that’s very kind but, no thank you,” Sam smiled.

“Oh I’m afraid I’m gonna have to insist. Mother was very clear: tea and biscuits must me served to guests, it is the height of decorum,” he poured steaming tea into four petite cups and motioned for the seats; he clearly had been expecting them. “It’s what separates us from animals.”

The women all took a seat and accepted the cups, the tea was good for some reason helped dull the buzzing headache from the fading painkillers.

“So what can I do for you fine ladies?” he took a sip from his cup.

“Rosie sent us your way. She said you were something of an expert in Celtic lore,” Stevie put her teacup back on the saucer.

“Yes. Despite my brogue, I am a full-blooded Irishman, straight from the old country.”

“Do you know any ritual associated with straw dolls? It would have to be Celtic or old-country pagan.” Sam asked and placed a picture of the straw figurine on the table.

Rowan’s eyes shimmered as he studied the photo, he sipped more tea and hummed quietly. “My stars, I have seen these since I was a little boy.”

“So you know what they are?” Dianne asked between sips. She really wasn’t a tea person but this was some magic tea right here; her headache was completely gone and so was the feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach.

“Yes. It’s Lughnasadh,” Rowan murmured. “The harvest ritual.”

“Harvest?” Dianne echoed.

Sam nodded, “In many pagan cultures, harvest time is marked by rituals to appease the gods or deities that make the bountiful reaping possible.” Rowan nodded in agreement.

“Where did you find this?” he asked and poured more tea into his cup. “Top you up?”

Dianne nodded with a smile, “We found them in a string of home invasion-slash-murders a few towns over. This is good stuff.” She nodded at the cup.

Rowan smiled in response, “I just love bergamot,” his eyes moved back to the picture. “How many people have been killed?”

“Uh, seven that we know of,” Sam said. “And they’re all children.”

“Firstborn,” he tapped his cup. “Twelve are needed in total.”

“Twelve?”

He nodded, “For the sacrifice. This isn’t some zealous pagan worshipper. This is a witch… more specifically a druid.”

“A druid?” Stevie raised a brow. “Didn’t they go extinct?”

Rowan tipped his head this way then that way, “More like endangered. An ancient order hunted them to near extinction. What’s left of them are either running or in hiding. This particular druid is trying to win the favour of a god named Blythurys.”

“Who?” Dianne tilted her head sideways.

“He is a primordial god. The god of the harvest. If humans sacrifice to him, he rewards them with a bountiful harvest, healthy crops for the sowing season,” Rowan explained.

“And what does he do for witches?” Sam asked slowly.

Rowan’s gaze cooled to an icy blue shade and he took his time savouring the tea, “Well, my dear girl, he grants the witch unimaginable power. I’m surprised not more witches resort to these means in the quest for magical prowess.”

“I'm guessing the copious amounts of killing certainly put one off,” Sam gave a single-shoulder shrug.

“Well, we have to stop the witch, druid, whatever they are before they get to twelve,” Dianne finished her second cup of tea and placed the tiny cup on its saucer. “Do you know where we can find them?”

Rowan grimaced, “Well, that’s the difficult part,” he unfolded his legs, “Witches are hard to kill but druids and nearly impossible. Their life force is bound to nature.”

“So to kill them, one would have to sever that bond?” Sam theorised.

“You would need the Ledger,” Rowan replied matter-of-factly with a nod.

“The who now?” Dianne lifted a single brow.

Rowan chuckled softly, “It’s called the Ledger of Geasa. It is used to strip a druid of their power and return what they have stolen.”

Stevie scowled, “It can bring people back to life?”

Rowan brushed off an imaginary speck of dust off his leg, “Of course not. Nature does not allow for such travesties. However, these children aren’t dead, not yet.”

“I have seven families that would beg to differ,” Dianne rubbed her temple and stifled a wince. Her headache was starting up again.

Rowan refilled her cup, “More tea?” Dianne shrugged. It was good tea. “These deaths are different. The druid is using souls as an offering to Blythurys, they have to be gathered and offered up at the same time during a Harvest moon at its peak. So, at this moment, the children are in a type of limbo, neither here nor there. If the druid can be stopped before the offering, their souls may return to their bodies, provided they are still intact.”

“Okay, so where is this Ledger?” Sam asked.

Rowan gave a Cheshire cat smile, “Come now, Samantha Winchester. It will be no fun if I spoon feed you all the answers. But I would suggest you try a library?”

Stevie chose not to push the matter, the man was clearly had pull in the world of witchcraft and it was safer to leave while he allowed. She put her half-drunk tea on the saucer and rose, “Thank you for your assistance, Mr Cavanaugh.”

“Oh please, the pleasure is all mine,” his eyes shifted to Dianne. “To meet the lovey Winchesters and their den mother was the treat of treats,” reached for Dianne’s arm and gave her a light squeeze. “I will you well.”

Sam chuckled lightly as they reached the car, “Since when do you drink tea?”

“Oh shut up, it seemed rude to refuse,” she snatched the keys from her sister.

Stevie rolled her eyes, “And you are the picture of etiquette,” she drawled.


End file.
